


Top Inker

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-20 23:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is a tattoo artist and contestant on the show Top Inker. Stiles is a canvas to be tattooed. An annoying, jittery canvas with a stupid tattoo idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Top Inker

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, so any mistakes are my own. Top Inker does not actually exist, to my knowledge.

“I want Yoda holding an orchid on my thigh,” says the kid, a quick grin flashing across his face. 

Derek watches as he bounces on his toes, and hopes to god that there’s a worse tattoo idea on the board. He can already tell that the kid’s going to be a terrible canvas - he can’t stand still, and his eyes keep jumping from artist to artist as Kate interrogates the line of people. 

Since Kate won the flash challenge she gets to assign the artist to the canvas, which means that the worst canvas idea is going to Derek. He knows that he can tattoo whatever comes his way, but he doesn’t relish the thought of trying to hold the jittery kid still. 

“I want a dragon coming out of my crotch,” says one of the canvases with a grin, and Kate’s eyes widen. The artists around him mutter, and one lets out a wolf whistle, but Derek doesn’t let anything show on his face. 

The producers keep pulling him aside and telling him to open up a little, to bring more drama to the competition, and Derek listens and nods and then shuts down even more. He’s here to win one hundred thousand dollars, not act like Kim Kardashian. 

He blames Laura for the fact that he even knows who that is. 

“I want a phoenix rising from the ashes on my head,” says the last canvas, and Kate turns around and gives Derek a slick smile. He ignores her. 

She hands out the black skulls that hold the artists names on the bottom, and one by one the canvases step forward to claim their tattooer. Dragon crotch lady goes to Boyd, a new school artist that Derek considers actual competition, and Erica gets assigned phoenix head guy. Derek tries not to tense as the twitchy kid turns his skull over, then the kid is smiling at the cluster of artists. 

“Derek,” he says, eyes traveling over the group, and for a moment Derek reverts back to childhood and hopes that if he doesn’t move, the kid won’t see him. After a second Isaac bumps his side with his elbow, and Derek grunts and reluctantly raises his hand. The kid gives him a little nod, rocking back against his heels. 

Fucking Kate. 

-

“...not going to throw up,” the kid is saying as Derek gets to the doorway of the tattoo station. His back is to the door, and Derek doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he also doesn’t announce his presence. The camera crew is still getting set up, and the kid’s obviously not expecting Derek yet. 

He’s laughing, loud and bright, then says, “I’m telling you, man, I don’t think I’ll be able to make it through the tattoo.” Derek rolls his eyes. “Nah, it’s not the time frame, pfft, that’s nothing. No, my artist is like, a greek god. Like an underwear model or something. Good thing I’m not masochistic and get off on pain, because hello awkward boner.” 

Derek doesn’t blush, and he’s not getting warmer, and he can’t feel the blood rising from his chest up. That’s ridiculous. 

He purposefully kicks the closest metal stand that holds his gear, and the kid yelps and drops his phone.

“Ready to start?” Derek asks brusquely, and the kid blows out a deep breath.

“Yep, yes, alright,” he rubs his hands awkwardly on his pants. Terry, one of the camera guys, ducks into the room, and the kid stares at the camera as the red record light blinks on. 

“You get used to it,” Terry says encouragingly from behind the lens, “just ignore me.” 

“What’s your name?” Derek asks. 

“Stiles,” he says quickly. “I said that out there. But there was a lot of us, so I get that you wouldn’t remember. Derek, right?” 

Derek nods once, then sits down and starts pulling up pictures of Yoda on his laptop. “What other tattoos do you have?” 

“Um,” Stiles pops up right behind him, peering over his shoulder at the computer. “I want that one,” he points to one of the pictures. “I was thinking he could be holding the flower in his little claws. And this is my first. Tattoo.” 

Derek stills abruptly. He can feel the Stiles’ breath puff against his cheek as he exhales. “Your first?” He asks flatly. 

Stiles backs away a little, although not enough for Derek’s comfort. “The producers said that was okay.”

“You’re sitting for six hours,” Derek tells him, like Stiles doesn’t already know the rules. “Six hours straight.” 

“Yep,” he pops the p. 

“Do you even know what your pain threshold is?” Derek doesn’t know why he’s so annoyed. Their first challenge had been on virgin skin with the same time frame, and he hadn’t had any problems. Something about this kid gets underneath his skin. He’s not particularly interested in finding out why that is. “Are you even old enough to get a tattoo?” 

“Dude,” Stiles sounds annoyed and puzzled. “What’s your problem? I’m nineteen, not that it’s your business, and there’s no issue with me not having any ink yet, I know because I talked to the producers.” 

“Whatever,” Derek practically snarls. “Let’s just get this drawn out and over with.” 

“Fine,” Stiles snaps, moving away. 

Derek scowls as he fishes out his pencils. 

-

They get a nights reprieve between drawing the design and actually tattooing the canvases, and after dinner Derek goes to his room in the communal house and sits in the darkness for a while. 

He misses Laura. The contestants are allowed to call home once every few days, and only on camera. He and Laura have lived together ever since the fire, and they haven’t really been away from each other for longer than a few days. He knows that there’s something a little pathetic about the fact that he’s in his mid-twenties and relies on his sister this much, then he remembers the way that his mom looked when she laughed, and the way his dad would chase him around the house and tickle him until they were both breathless. 

He lets out a deep breathe he didn’t realize he was holding. 

Kate slips into his room after he’s actually in bed, just when he’s on the verge of sleep. 

“Hey, stud,” she croons, probably trying to sound seductive, and Derek sits up and glares at her. 

“Get out,” he orders, and she laughs. 

“Getting nervous?” She asks, leaning over and trailing a fingernail over his collarbone. “I’m going to decimate you.” 

“You don’t interest me,” Derek says baldly, and something sour twists in her face. “You don’t intimidate me.”

“I’ll win,” she hisses. “I always do.” 

“I don’t know if you want to fuck me or beat me,” Derek pushes her away from the bed and towards the door. “But neither are going to happen. Leave.” 

Kate smiles. “I get what I want, in the end,” she tells him sweetly, then slips out like it was her idea. 

-

“Derek,” Stiles greets him coolly the next day. The camera is already rolling, and Derek wants to get this challenge over with. He shows Stiles the design without a word, and something pricks in his heart when Stiles’ face lights up. “It’s perfect!” 

“We’ll have to shave your thigh,” Derek tells him, and Stiles nods giddily. 

“Sure, let me strip,” he says cheerfully, then pauses and glances towards the camera. “Can I re-say that? So it doesn’t sound like I’m looking for dollar bills in exchange for my body?” 

Terry snorts, and Derek feels his lips twitch up. 

“I only have a twenty,” he says, deadpan, and Stiles gapes at him for a second before his lips curve into a smile. 

Derek doesn’t watch as Stiles rolls his pant leg up. He doesn’t think about how warm Stiles’ leg feels under his fingers while he’s lathering up the shaving foam, and he doesn’t think about the fact that for the next six hours he’ll pretty much be bent over Stiles’ crotch while he works. It’s ridiculous. All of that would be ridiculous, and Derek doesn’t do any of it. 

“What does the tattoo mean to you?” Terry asks, angling for a good sound bite. That’s technically something that the show wants the artists to do, but Derek personally couldn’t care less about the reasons that most people get their tattoos. Terry doesn’t seem to mind that he’s stuck with interview duties. 

“Because it’s Yoda, man! Yoda’s the shit. It’s like, this type of wise old man that I totally want to be when I’m in a nursing home. Hm, bathe me, you must,” Stiles tilts his head and affects a really bad Yoda voice. 

“What about the orchid?” Derek asks, trying to sound nonchalant. From the look that Terry’s shooting him, he’s not hitting the mark. 

“Oh yeah, thats my mom,” Stiles scratches his nose as Derek lays the outline on his now smooth skin. “I mean, obviously it’s not my mom, like a portrait, but orchids were her favorite flower. She said it was because they’re so hard to grow, it’s the most worth it in the end when they bloom.” Stiles has a bitter smile, like he’s told this story before and it hasn’t gotten any easier. “She died when I was little.” 

Derek knows from experience that it takes a long time for anything to get easier. There’s silence for a second, then Derek starts the machine and lets the familiar hum settle into his bones. 

“My parents died, too,” he says, almost too quietly for even himself to hear. Stiles relaxes a little, though, and when Derek looks up Stiles is staring at him like he’s a puzzle waiting to be solved. He ducks his head again. “This is going to hurt. Let me know if you need me to stop.” 

Stiles touches his shoulder, almost too quickly for Derek to even react, and nods his head decisively. “There is no try,” he warbles, “there is only do.” 

-

Three hours in, and Stiles has been surprisingly still and quiet. Derek’s almost enjoying himself, letting himself get lost in the detailing of Yoda’s wrinkles and ear hair. 

Until Kate stops by the station. 

“How’s it going?” She asks coyly as she peers at the half-finished tattoo. “Just remember that this task is about color.” 

“Yep,” Derek grunts, “I was there when they announced it.” 

“I don’t know if there’s enough counter balance to the green,” she says with fake concern, leaning close enough that Derek can feel her breasts pressing against his back. 

“Okay, you can back off now,” Stiles cuts in, sounding annoyed. “I don’t know you, please stop ogling my thigh.” 

Kate looks surprised, and Derek can’t hide his shit eating grin. 

“Sorry,” she huffs, clearly not. “I was just checking out the competition.” 

Stiles stares at her until she sneers and backs out of the room. 

“My line work is clearly superior,” Derek hears her telling the cameras. Stiles rolls his eyes. 

“What a bitch,” he says, not trying to keep his voice down. Derek shrugs. 

“It’s part of the game,” he says, settling back in to work on the pink of the orchid. 

“So it doesn’t bother you?” 

Derek thinks about it for a moment. “It does,” he finally says, then snaps his head up and glares at Terry. “Don’t let them use that.” 

“I have no say over that,” Terry says apologetically, but Derek sees him take a note of the time in the recording. 

“Laura loves Star Wars,” Derek comments, wiping at the tattoo before diving back in. 

“Your girlfriend?” Stiles asks casually, but Derek can see his muscles tighten for a brief second. 

“My sister,” Derek corrects him. “She’s made me have a Star Wars marathon with her at least three times.” 

Stiles laughs. “That’s nothing,” he boasts. “Scott and I’ve had like, five separate marathons. And not just with the good ones, with the newest ones, too.” 

“Your boyfriend?” Derek asks casually, and Stiles snorts. 

“My best friend,” Stiles corrects him, and Derek smiles into the skin of his thigh. 

-

Before Derek realizes it the buzzer’s going off that signals that the time is up. Yoda twinkles up at him, a perfect orchid held between his three fingers, and Derek takes time to sit back and appreciate his own work. 

“Can I see it?” Stiles is practically vibrating. “It looks awesome from upside down, obviously, but I want to see it, it’s great.” 

Derek lets Stiles limp to the nearby mirror as he strips his gloves off, then he lets himself watch Stiles inspect the tattoo from every angle. His face is a picture of glee and awe, and Derek’s feelings are so far from annoyed that he’s surprised at himself. He purposefully settles his face into a neutral scowl. 

“It’s perfect,” Stiles enthuses. “If you don’t win this thing I’m going to call foul, dude. I’ll personally write a strongly worded letter to the president of the TV channel.” 

“Really,” Derek drawls, and Stiles laughs. 

“Nah, I’ll probably leave a badly spelled comment on the YouTube video.” Stiles inspect the tattoo in the mirror again, and beams up at Derek. Something twists and splinters inside him. 

“Well,” he says gruffly. “They’ll want you to go take a picture now.” 

“Right,” Stiles nods and pats his pockets, checking for his keys and wallet. “It’s been awesome. What shop do you work at? I’m going to recommend you to all my friends. Scratch that, to everyone I know. Even my dad, it’ll be a bonding experience for us.” 

Derek scrounges for one of his cards that he carries at all times, then Stiles is sketching a brief wave goodbye and ducking out of the room. Terry gives Derek an amused glance as he follows, and Derek glares and flips him off. 

He doesn’t date, not really. There’ve been a few people here and there, no one who’s really lasted longer than a few months. Laura dates all the time; Derek feels like every week there’s a new half-naked man hanging around their kitchen in the morning. He went to therapy for a few years, after the insurance money came through when the police were able to rule that the fire was an accident. Dr. Deaton had hypothesized that Derek didn’t want to form personal relationships because he was afraid that being close to people would mean getting hurt again.

Derek agrees. 

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about Dr. Deaton right now. 

That’s a lie.

He knows that Stiles is attractive. He knows that he probably has a chance if he makes a move. He also knows that he’s not going to do anything about it. 

He cleans up the equipment and wipes down the area, and he’s about the head out and back to the communal living room when Stiles sticks his head back in. 

“I forgot something,” Stiles says brightly. Derek looks around, not seeing anything out of the ordinary, and when he shifts his gaze back Stiles is standing right in front of him. 

“You were a dick to me,” Stiles tells him. Derek nods mechanically. “And I kind of get the feeling that you’re grouchy a lot. You’d probably hate my friends.” 

“Okay,” Derek says slowly, trying not to feel like someone’s punched him in the chest. “Did you come back just to insult me?” 

“Here’s my number,” Stiles steps forward even more, which Derek hadn't thought was possible, and tucks a small piece of paper into Derek’s hand. “Call me when you win this thing. Or if you don’t, even though I’m convinced you will. Okay?” 

Derek freezes. “Okay,” he says cautiously. 

“Okay,” Stiles repeats. He presses his lips against Derek's, quickly, and is gone before Derek can even think about moving. 

-

Derek should throw his number away. Stiles already laid out all of the reasons that Derek shouldn’t call, and who is Derek to argue against empirical evidence of something being a bad idea. 

He keeps the number. 

-

“Derek, we really feel that you’ve shown a consistent level of skill across the board,” the judge is telling him. Boyd is standing next to him, head bowed and obviously stressed out. Derek stands like he’s made out stone. He can get through this without throwing up. He can stand here for the next few minutes while they announce the winner, and then he can congratulate Boyd and slip out quietly and forget that he ever agreed to be on a stupid reality TV show just because Laura thought it was a good idea. “That’s why we’re giving you the title of Top Inker.” 

“Oh,” he says, when everyone falls silent. “Okay. Thank you.” 

Boyd hugs him, then the judges come out and shake his hand, and he’s still trying to figure out if he should smile or throw up, and he just won one hundred thousand dollars. 

“Let’s get one final interview,” one of the camera guys that’s not Terry tells him, and Derek nods his head. 

“Wait,” he says after a second, sticking his hand into his pocket and feeling the smooth edges of the small piece of paper. “I have a phone call I have to make.” 

-

He calls Laura, first, and endures about ten minutes of her cursing him out for being amazing and telling him to get his ass home.

Then he calls Stiles.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is. I was watching InkMaster and and started thinking that Derek would be the grumpiest tattooist ever, and then suddenly there was angst and shit and I don't even know. 
> 
> Any mistakes about tattooing or TV shows are all my own; although I have tattoos I've never given one, and I've definitely never been on television.


End file.
